


In Which Cimorene Visits an Ocean

by ApocalypseAngel



Category: Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Patricia Wrede
Genre: Cameos, Gen, Humor, Labor Unions, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 13:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseAngel/pseuds/ApocalypseAngel
Summary: It's been one year since Mendanbar was freed from the wizards' clutches, and Cimorene hasn't taken a single break since then. There's too much work to do! When the royal couple is invited to a conference at a coastal duchy, can she finally relax and enjoy herself? Or will events make this much more of a working holiday than she bargained for?(Yuletide 2018 Gift)





	In Which Cimorene Visits an Ocean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexElizabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexElizabeth/gifts).



A holiday is not a practical thing for a queen to take, and Cimorene was nothing if not practical. There was far too much work to be done to even consider the notion. The Enchanted Forest was not what it had been: like any hibernating creature, it had awoken cross and hungry, and Cimorene’s job was to see to it that it didn’t bite anything it shouldn’t chew.

“Spit it out right now,” she said to a mossy, carnivorous boulder with a suspicious lump in its side. “You know perfectly well that hooves give you indigestion.”

The sun was high over the trees, though this deep in the Forest, it was hard to tell except by the stifling humid heat. There were sweat stains growing under Cimorene’s arms and she felt quite cross herself. The boulder squatted innocently beside the path, either not knowing or not caring that the patience it was losing belonged to its queen.

“I mean it,” Cimorene said with a glare. “I’ve melted wizards. I can find a way to melt stone. Don’t think I won’t.”

The boulder considered. It had been a long time since its path had seen so much traffic and it didn’t trust its good fortune to last. The Forest was not unchanging and immune any more than kings were. Only stone remained, and even stone could go hungry. Still, as it sat there under Cimorene’s blazing eyes, the possibility of melting seemed a little too, well, _possible._

It spat out the unicorn.

“Good rock,” Cimorene murmured, and turned her attention to the unicorn, which was lying stunned on the moss with gobs of boulder spittle in its mane. It rolled its large, liquid eyes at her.

“Are you a princess?” it asked.

“None of that, now,” she said sharply. “Come on, get up. There’s nothing wrong with your legs that a stretch won’t fix.”

The unicorn — guided by the natural impulses of all four-legged creatures, mystical or mundane — clambered to its feet and shook itself, sending gravel and drool in all directions.

“I thank you for your assistance, fair...matron,” the unicorn said, its attention still firmly on the boulder. “Wash me and braid flowers into my mane.”

“No, thank you,” Cimorene said dryly. She had once wondered what it would be like to be a unicorn’s princess, just for comparison, but she’d learned enough about unicorns since becoming queen that she felt confident she had made the better choice with Kazul.

The unicorn looked at her askance, but just then the boulder belched, and the unicorn pinned its ears and took off bucking into the trees without another word.

“Well, that’s taken care of,” Cimorene sighed, dusting off her hands. Her tunic was flecked with mud and her feet ached, which made her crosser yet, because her feet had never ached like this when she was younger.

 _Stop feeling sorry for yourself,_ she told herself. Her feet were sore because she had been walking her kingdom, which hadn’t been safe to do in a long time. She should be grateful for every blister. Besides, sore feet were nothing. For seventeen years, she and the Forest had been without their king, and she knew that nothing would ever ache as much as that.

And anyway, there was work to be done.

“Behave yourself,” she told the boulder as she turned back toward the castle. It stopped reaching for the rainbow-shelled turtle that had just begun to trudge across its path. 

* * *

In the castle, Mendanbar was up to something. Cimorene smelled it the moment she stepped back into the Great Hall.

“Mendanbar,” she said as she swept into his study, “you’re up to something.”

“Yes, he is,” grumbled the gargoyle from the corner. “He’s brought all these old books up from the library. There’s dust _everywhere._ ”

Mendanbar glanced up and rolled his eyes at the gargoyle, but he gave Cimorene a bright smile. He always smiled at her the same way he had on their wedding day, like he was falling in love with her all over again. It made her feel warm and bright and loved, but now she couldn’t help noticing the streak of gray in her husband’s hair, and it added a pinprick of something else, something sad.

“I am making an itinerary,” Mendanbar said. Indeed, he was. The huge desk was covered with maps and diplomatic letters and lists of supplies and clothes and budgets that Willin would weep to see in such disarray.

“An itinerary?” Cimorene repeated.

“Your sister gave me the idea,” he said. He made a note in a ledger and sifted through a stack of papers until he found a letter with a large, intricate seal as a header. He handed it to Cimorene. “We’ve been invited to a conference, and I want to be prepared.”

Cimorene raised her eyebrows and unfolded the letter. It was from the Interdimensional Magical Practitioners’ Union, which had been making overtures to the Association of Fire-Witches, the Non-Traditionalist League, and the Deadly Nightshade Gardening Club for months now. They wanted fair pay and fair treatment for all magic users, and to that end, they were hosting a conference at the end of the month in the coastal duchy of Leos Lin.

“I think we should go,” Mendanbar said with an eager spark in his eye. “Their Chairwoman asked if we would give a talk about the Society of Wizards and their magical rights abuses. What do you think?”

What did she think? Cimorene thought of the Forest still struggling to mend itself, of the handful of wizards who were still trying to cause trouble, of how young Daystar still was, of what had happened the last time she had left the Forest behind. She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head.

“We have too much we need to do here,” she said. 

“Cimorene, it’s been a year. We need a break,” Mendanbar replied gently. He reached for her and rubbed his thumb over her elbow. “ _You_ need a break.”

Her eyes fell uneasily on the other stacks of letters. Trade negotiations and unnecessary marriage offers for Daystar, no doubt, and grievances and congratulations and a million other things that needed their attention. The conference was its own work, too, and maybe it was worthy, but they simply didn’t have the time.

They had already lost so much time.

“Morwen and Telemain could give that lecture better than we could,” Cimorene said. “Why not ask them to go? A few nights by the ocean could make up for that troll attack on their honeymoon.”

Mendanbar’s shoulders drooped and his forehead creased, but he kept smiling at her anyway. “All right. I’ll ask them.”

Cimorene nodded even though his disappointment made her want to change her mind. This was for the best. A holiday was not a practical thing for a queen to take, no matter how much she might want one. 

* * *

“It’s not a holiday,” Morwen snapped a week later. “It’s a conference, and an important one, and you and Mendanbar should be there.”

Cimorene sighed and kept sorting moth-eaten clothes into piles to be mended or discarded. On the other side of the magic mirror, she glimpsed a row of cats staring at her with disapproval from various shelves. Morwen didn’t look a whisker friendlier at the moment.

“This conference,” the witch continued, “could organize magical workers across the world, and if you think that won’t affect the Enchanted Forest, know that I am perfectly prepared to lead a strike myself if you and Mendanbar aren’t amenable to workers’ demands.”

“What demands?” Cimorene asked, alarmed.

“If you come to the conference, you’ll find out.”

“We can’t leave right now,” Cimorene said again. “We have so much to do.”

“And a kingdom to help you do it,” said Morwen. She folded her arms. “Is there anything you need to do that Willin or Daystar couldn’t handle for a few days?”

Daystar! Daystar was still a child. Or he had been a moment ago. Now, as he passed by the open door with a pack of diplomats and messengers at his heel, he seemed much more a man. He winked at his mother. She waved half-heartedly.

“He’s not ready to guard the Forest on his own,” Cimorene said when Daystar was out of earshot. “He’s barely seventeen.”

Morwen narrowed her eyes. “When you were seventeen, you rescued the King of the Dragons from a wizard plot. For the second time. This sort of thing runs in your family.”

She was right; it did. And she had already trusted Daystar with the fate of the kingdom once. It was only now that she had him and his father both back in her sight that she wanted to keep him safe from his responsibilities.

“You’re making excuses, Cimorene,” said Morwen. She pulled a three-faced watch out of her sleeve and consulted it. “Telemain and I are leaving for the conference tomorrow at noon. I expect to see you both on my doorstep before then. Oh, and Kazul is coming.”

Of course she was. Kazul was the only one who could be counted on to talk sense into Cimorene when she was being needlessly pigheaded.

“Fine.” Cimorene slammed the lid shut on the chest of clothes and dusted off her hands on her skirt. “ _Fine._ ”

And so it was that the next day at a little before noon, Mendanbar and Cimorene arrived on a cat-covered porch with two trunks and an itinerary, which interested Kazul very much. 

* * *

The duchy of Leos Lin was a place of sundrenched orchards, glistening waves, and man-eating sirens.

The latter were responsible for a budding tourism industry. Merchant wagons lining the road and the beach sold (allegedly genuine) recordings of the sirens’ songs trapped in enchanted shells. Gaggles of people in floral tunics and short, baggy pants could be seen waddling onto boats with wax stuffed in their ears. Kazul made thoughtful noises when a tour guide told her how much the sirens were paid to sun themselves on the rocks and to only lure tourists a _little_ away from the boats.

The tourists made Cimorene tired and cranky. She could too easily imagine packs of them roaming the Forest, needing rescue from carnivorous boulders.

“What does your song _do_ , exactly?” Telemain asked an off-duty siren, who had joined their small group on the walk up to the castle. Cimorene had gathered that inherently magical people — IMPs for short — were sending a few representatives to the conference. Kazul was one, and this siren must have been another. 

The siren fanned herself with her wide-brimmed hat. “Our song makes people forget that they’re afraid.”

“Oh?” Telemain scribbled this down. “Afraid of drowning, or of yourself, or of some greater existential terror?”

“Afraid of whatever they fear,” the siren replied, looking bored by the question. “Now, if you’ll excuse me….”

Her abrupt exit was overshadowed when the rest of the party crested a hill and saw the palace of Leos Lin standing tall on the cliffs. Someone whistled, impressed.

It _was_ an impressive palace. Delicate ivory spires twisted up from white marble walls like flecks of seafoam. Rows of arched windows invited in the afternoon light, giving the sense that the palace was endowed with its own private sun.

“Beautiful!” Mendanbar exclaimed. “Let’s hurry. I’ve heard they have espresso! I’ve always wanted to try some.” 

“Is that in your itinerary?” Cimorene asked with a quirked eyebrow.

He unfolded it and pointed to a starred line on the list. “Yes.”

So they hurried along, dragging their suitcase behind them — or in Telemain’s case, levitating them up the hill — to join the stream of other conference guests who were already making their way inside.

In deference to their rank and their upcoming lecture, Cimorene and Mendanbar had been given a small suite overlooking the beach, and the windows were wide open to the breeze. Cimorene leaned out to look at the ocean. It was high summer and the water was perfectly cerulean. It rushed up over the white beach and left ribbons of white foam behind. Farther from shore, it grew dark and cold, the color of the sky just as late night becomes early morning. Cimorene felt uneasy looking at it.

“We could go swimming after dinner,” Mendanbar suggested with that twinkle in his eye again. _He_ knew perfectly well that this was a holiday, whatever Morwen said.

“I don’t know,” she said. She turned away from him and starting pulling evening clothes out of their suitcase. “You can go swimming if you want. I don’t feel up to it.”

A crease appeared between Mendanbar’s eyebrows. “You’re still worried about Daystar?”

Cimorene hadn’t been worried about much else for almost twenty years, and she almost said as much, too, but her husband was right. She had been preoccupied since the moment they’d set foot in Leos Lin.

“I’m scared for him,” she said quietly. “The last time I sent him out alone, it was to rescue you, and I nearly lost you both.”

“He was fine. He _will be_ fine,” Mendanbar said. He flashed her a crooked smile. She didn’t know he could do that, but it gave him a mischievous air that matched his next statement well: “Now let’s go find some of that espresso and enjoy ourselves for a few days. Please?”

“All right,” she sighed. “Espresso it is.”

Cimorene had her back to the window, so she did not see two worn round slabs of black stone emerge from the waves like a pair of curious eyes. 

* * *

The seating arrangements at dinner were so carefully curated that Cimorene felt tempted to take notes to give to Willin.

At one table, Telemain was engrossed in a technical discussion with several time travelers — or perhaps the same one several times. At another, Mendanbar talked quietly with a magician in a patched jacket who was far too young for his eyes. Morwen and Kazul were placed by the windows where the dragon could lay on the patio and still take part in their conversation with a sensible-looking young witch in a straw hat who scolded her eggs until they were properly poached.

Despite the harmony amongst the magic users and IMPs, though, Cimorene sensed a current of tension running under the smooth marble floors. 

She herself sat at a table full of non-magical guests — other nobility, mostly. All of the non-magical people were at their own tables, actually, and those had been set up on the opposite side of the room from the magical guests. It was a glaring flaw in the dinner plan. The two groups passed the occasional wary glance back and forth across the room. It made Cimorene’s teeth ache.

Duke Leonardo, their host, made circuits of the room and kept alighting at their table to pick at his plate. He was unfortunately not as fascinating as his beautiful palace. He was amiable and always making jokes, but there was something tense about his sense of humor, like it strained him.

“I’m honored that you accepted our invitation, my dear,” he said to Cimorene with a watery smile as the roast lamb was brought out and he settled down for a few bites. “I feel it’s important for the nobility to stay abreast of labor issues, don’t you?” 

Cimorene nodded. Mendanbar and his crown — or sword, rather — were tied to the life and magic of the Forest, so he took his responsibilities to his people very seriously, but Cimorene had seen enough of other countries to know that not all those in charge were so concerned about the people who baked their bread and swept their floors. Magic users were another story altogether. As the wizards and people like Vamist had demonstrated, poor working conditions were just one way that magical people could be abused or exploited.

Before she could say as much, though, the baroness seated on Cimorene’s other side cut in. “I don’t care to be bullied in my own kingdom. You would think magic would be enough compensation for these people, but now they want a ‘40-hour work week’ and ‘living wages.’ They’re _magic_. Surely they can just _magic_ themselves more money?”

“That isn’t quite how it works,” Cimorene said.

“And this ‘union’ idea is just taking things too far!” the baroness continued as if she hadn’t heard. “Where are _my_ protections? I want to be free to run a fairy out of a christening without the rest of them going on strike, giving the servants ideas.”

“That’s how you get sleeping curses,” Cimorene muttered.

The baroness sniffed. “I suppose this is all right by _you,_ my dear, since your husband is one of them. You can’t think clearly on the issue. It’s fine. We all have our little biases. Although I can’t imagine how you can stand to be around a sorcerer all day long...”

Rankled, Cimorene said, “Maybe the fairy who upturned your nose had _little biases_ , too, since she took it to such piggish proportions. And he isn’t a sorcerer. He’s a king.”

The baroness went beet red. The other guests at the table gasped or tittered. Cimorene shut her mouth with a snap. What was the matter with her? This was a diplomatic conference, not a shouting match with a wizard. She started to apologize, but the baroness was already gathering her skirts to move to another table. 

Cimorene deflated a little. Duke Leonardo didn’t seem bothered by the exchange at all, though. He piled more lamb onto her plate even though she’d barely touched her portion.

“Don’t worry about old Hildebrand,” he said. “She can be loathsome sometimes and she doesn’t trust magic.”

 _Then why invite her?_ Cimorene wondered.

“Is everything all right?” asked Mendanbar, who was suddenly standing at her elbow with a steaming cup of espresso in his hand. 

Cimorene jumped. In the hum of voices, she hadn’t heard him approach. She was relieved to see him, though. She squeezed his hand. “I lost my temper, as usual.”

He smiled tiredly. “Oh, Cimorene.”

“I tried to apologize! It was too late, though. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nerves?”

Cimorene rolled her eyes. “Remember that I’m the woman who barged into the Mountains of Morning and bullied a dragon into taking me in. I peaked early for nerves.”

“Talking to a palace full of strangers about what the wizards did to us might make anyone a little uneasy, you know,” he said. “I’m sweating just thinking about it.”

“I’m fine, Mendanbar,” she said more sharply than she meant to. She softened when she saw the look on his face. “There I go again. I’m sorry. I just want to get this over with and go home.”

His brows knit together in disappointment. “You won’t be able to enjoy yourself if we stay a few extra days, will you?”

“No.” She shook her head, feeling nauseated at the very thought. “I can’t stop thinking about Daystar. I was starting to relax before, but...”

“He’ll be fine.”

Cimorene shook her head again. “That’s what I thought when I left you.”

The words were out before her brain had had time to clear them. She grimaced at the expression of pain and regret on her husband’s face. As if _he_ had something to be sorry for.

“Cimorene…”

But just then, there was a great crash. They all turned to see one of the guests, a princess, gaping in horror with a shattered goblet at her feet and fine wine all over her gown. She had just seen Kazul.

“Oh, dear,” Cimorene sighed, and got up to go deal with it. 

* * *

“Shall we take a turn on the beach?” someone suggested after dinner had been cleared away and the princess had been properly soothed (with no small amount of help from a siren.) As it was a fine night and everyone was pleasantly full, the idea of some fresh air — though perhaps not walking — pleased everyone.

They walked the sands in peculiar groups. Cimorene wandered over to rejoin Mendanbar, Kazul, and Morwen, who were still deep in conversation with the straw-hatted witch. Cimorene half-listened to them talk. Most of her attention was fixed on the ocean.

In the evening, the water darkened and became streaked with gray and green, like thousands of black opals made liquid. Cimorene kept staring at the riptides, the spots where the current carried the waves back out to sea. They were dangerous, she’d been told. They could sweep you away before you knew something was wrong.

“Cimorene?”

Her eyes wouldn’t tear themselves away from the water. “Hmm?”

“Are you all right?”

It was Mendanbar. Suddenly, Cimorene needed to hold his hand, to reassure herself that he was here and he would not slip away again, and she turned and grabbed his forearm hard. He tried to pull away, startled, but she hung on until he yelped.

“Oh!” she said, letting him go like it stung to touch him. “I’m so sorry, Mendanbar!”

He rubbed his arm where her nails had dug in, shaking his head. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Her gaze flicked to the ocean and away again. “I feel odd. Do you?”

“No. Wait.” Mendanbar turned to look at the horizon, where the sunset was just a suggestion of red and purple now. His eyes narrowed. “Maybe. I can’t see the magic here clearly, but —”

“UNHAND ME, KNAVE!”

They all spun around, even Kazul, who already had a fine view of everything happening on the beach. A clique of nobles had wandered near their group. Now Baroness Hildebrand was sprawled on the sand and brandishing a parasol at Telemain and one of the time travelers, who were backing away with their hands raised placatingly.

“We were trying to help you up,” Telemain said. He looked more baffled than usual that this social interaction had taken such a poor turn.

“With MAGIC, no doubt!” the baroness shrieked. “SNAKES! VILLAINS! CHARLATANS!”

“Madam, I assure you, I would not waste magic when I am more than capable of —”

The baroness ignored him and continued screaming, waving her parasol, and kicking her feet like an overturned turtle.

“That’s odd,” Cimorene said. The woman had been odious at dinner, but she hadn’t seemed _afraid_ of magic.

Just then, the duke elbowed his way through the crowd that had encircled the baroness and knelt down beside her. “There, there, old girl, up you get….”

All Cimorene could hear after that were the baroness’s sniffles and hiccups, but she saw the duke duck his head close to Hildebrand’s ear and whisper something to her. Whatever it was didn’t calm her as well as he had hoped, apparently, because she began to tremble and glare at all the other guests.

“Shouldn’t have invited a bigot like her,” someone in the crowd grumbled loudly enough to be heard.

“I say! Can’t you be civil?” retorted another.

That same unease Cimorene had felt at dinner spread out amongst the guests on the beach. People started muttering to each other, shifting away, gathering into knots to stare suspiciously at one another. Cimorene found herself doing it, too, sidling back a step to be closer to Mendanbar as some of the others frowned at her, as if trying to decide which side she was on.

“You!” shouted the time-traveler all of a sudden, pointing at Telemain. “I know you now! I know what you’re up to! You’re not stealing it again!”

“Stealing _what_ again?” Telemain asked.

“Not much of a magician, are you, robbing people of their tech. Can you even do _real_ magic?”

In the crowd, a woman said sneeringly: “Some magician, some magician!”

“You have absolutely no cause to speak to me like this,” Telemain said, twisting around to try to speak to the time-traveler and the stranger in the crowd at the same time.

“THIEF!” the time-traveler yelled.

“KNAVE!” chimed in the baroness.

“QUIET!” roared Kazul.

Everyone on the beach promptly shut up.

“Something isn’t right here,” Kazul said.

The King of the Dragons sat back on her haunches and stretched her neck to its full length. She sniffed the air a few times. Then she sneezed.

“Wizards,” she said grimly. 

* * *

The threat of a horde of vengeful wizards descending on the beach kept them all quiet as they filed back into the palace, which was more fortified, but the arguing started up again as soon as the heavy storm doors were shut behind them.

“Where is the duke? I want to be moved to a wing away from anyone who can cast so much as a minor hex,” the baroness snarled at the duke’s steward, who looked thinner and more miserable than any man in such a wealthy duchy should.

“I’m checking on my ship. Can’t have wizards trying to steal it, too,” the time-traveler snapped over her shoulder as she jogged out of the foyer. 

Mendanbar, meanwhile, had squeezed past a floppy-haired young man in a gaudy coat who was lounging on a bar stool and had ordered another espresso. He seemed calmest of everyone, which confused Cimorene and more than a little bit scared her.

“You want _coffee_ at a time like this?” she asked as she picked through the meager sword collection a servant had brought up from the armory. The duchy clearly wasn’t used to having to defend itself, wizards or no wizards.

Mendanbar shot her a haggard look. “I don’t want to fall asleep.”

Cimorene swallowed. Of course. She’d been thinking so much about their time apart, but hardly at all about what it had been like for him, trapped in the castle. 

“Do you think a wizard snuck in with us?” someone asked fearfully.

“Isn’t _he_ a wizard?” another said, pointing toward the bar.

The floppy-haired young man at the bar blinked around at the crowd as if noticing it for the first time. “What?”

“We can find out,” Cimorene said. She pointed at him. “Argelfraster!”

Absolutely nothing happened. A collective sigh went up around the room. The young man gave them all a wounded look and slunk away to pluck mournfully at a guitar in a different corner.

“I’m not convinced there are wizards here at all,” said Morwen suddenly.

The witch had been unusually quiet since their arrival, Cimorene realized, and her pronouncement made the people closest to her pause and listen. Kazul stopped mid-sneeze with her head still mostly out of the window.

“What did you say?” Cimorene asked.

“This isn’t wizards,” Morwen said. She pulled her three-faced watch out of her sleeve again and consulted it. “Have any of you noticed that everyone seems very frightened?”

“Yes,” mumbled Kazul, who sounded like a congested thunderstorm. “On account of the wizards.”

“No. Before that. Cimorene, you’ve been the worst. You practically vibrate whenever you’re thinking about Daystar.”

Her heart lurched when she heard his name. Was he safe? Was the Forest?

“There. You just went three shades paler. And you,” Morwen continued, pointing a finger at the baroness, who screamed. “Your older sisters are all sorceresses. I’ve read your treatise on non-magical and magical relations. You shouldn’t be any more frightened of magic than I am.”

They all blinked at the baroness, who looked more stunned than anyone to hear this news. She sputtered for a second, but then she frowned.

“My goodness,” she said. “For a minute there, I’d quite forgotten.”

Cimorene had an idea she didn’t like. “Baroness, you arrived early, didn’t you?”

“Why, yes. I wanted to relax at the beach for a few days. Everyone needs a holiday now and then.”

“You’ve been exposed the longest,” Cimorene said half to herself. “But to what? The food?”

“No. Something environmental,” Kazul said. A plume of sulfurous smoke curled up from between her teeth. “I can smell the magic now. Salt and fish scales. Definitely environmental. The ocean, maybe.”

Every eye in the room landed on the lone siren. She lifted her chin.

“My people have nothing to do with it,” she said. “Why would we do something to scare people _away_ from the water?”

“Good point,” Kazul said.

“We should ask the duke,” Morwen said darkly.

”You’re right,” Cimorene said. She rolled up her sleeves and looked around. “Where is he?” 

* * *

The duke was not in the ballroom, or his study, or his magnificent suite in the eastern tower. The steward just cowered more when questioned. There didn’t seem to be a duchess or little dukelings, either.

“Vanished. I hate sneak-thieves,” Kazul huffed when she landed from a flight around the duchy, just in case she could spot him from the air.

“He can’t have vanished,” Cimorene said. “He was on the beach with us. How far could he get? It’s nothing but empty fields for miles.”

“I don’t like this. We should evacuate the conference.”

Mendanbar, who was on his fourth espresso and looking peaky, shook his head. “What about the people?”

They all glanced around. Aside from the steward, they hadn’t actually seen many residents. The servants who had brought in their dinner were nowhere to be found, and Cimorene hadn’t spotted a single farm or village from the windows. Only the sirens seemed to actually live here.

“How long has Leos Lin been a duchy?” Cimorene asked no one in particular. She reached up to touch the edge of a tapestry on the wall. The style was several centuries old, but the edges weren’t even frayed. A copy?

“The duchy of Leos Lin was founded a hundred years ago by Leoflorian the Shrewd,” replied the siren in a rehearsed voice, like she was used to guiding tours. “The settlement was made possible by a disastrous earthquake that raised the cliffs out of the ocean.”

“Really?” Morwen asked, glancing up from the guestlist she had bullied away from the steward. “But this region has been seismically stable for at least five million years. It’s not on any fault lines. I checked before we left.”

Telemain looked smitten. “You actually _read_ all those geological surveys I brought home?”

“Of course I did, dear. A sound scientific foundation never hurt anyone’s spellcasting.”

“Did anyone live here before the earthquake?” Cimorene asked, addressing the siren.

“No one,” she said. “We only migrated here after the duke invited us. There were a couple of abandoned villages farther up the coast, I guess. Maybe whoever lived here succumbed to whatever you’re all feeling.”

They all exchanged glances.

“You mean you’re not feeling this at all?” Cimorene asked.

“No. We can’t feel fear like mortals can,” she replied with a toss of her blue hair over her shoulder. “That’s why our songs make people forget they’re afraid. It’s a highly addictive feeling if you have an anxious disposition, or so the duke claims. That’s why so many people come here. And if a few of them fall out of their boats, well….”

Cimorene ignored the urge to shudder at the siren’s satisfied smile. The tourists. Of course. A simple scam: come to the seaside, which stokes fears you didn’t know you had, and spend more and more coin when the sirens’ song is the only thing that soothes them. But that didn’t explain why the duke was sabotaging the conference. Unless…

“Wait a moment. How much do you charge for siren tours?”

“The duke handles that for us. We can’t keep most money underwater, you see,” said the siren with an artful shrug. “Why?”

“Here it is. ‘Tour Fees.’” Morwen flipped open a ledger she had lifted from the duke’s study. Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, my. That’s extravagant.”

When the witch named the figure, the siren went very still.

“Let me guess,” said Cimorene dryly. “You haven’t seen a fraction of that money?”

“And if we joined the Interdimensional Magical Practitioner’s Union, we would have found out,” finished the siren. Her sapphire eyes narrowed to slits. “We are going to have words with the duke when we find him.”

Just then, a high wave blocked out the last sliver of sunlight. It smacked against the high bay windows the faced the sea, shattering them. Briny water and broken glass spilled into the foyer. Screams filled the air as people scrambled up the stairs and onto tables. A particularly piercing shriek came from the floppy-haired man with the guitar, whose floppy hair was now sticking to his face in lank clumps.

None of the shouts were as loud as the booming voice that followed the water inside.

 _HOW DARE YOU INTERFERE WITH MY PLANS!_ it roared. _YOU WILL BE_ SORRY _FOR THIS!_

The voice sounded very like the duke’s, if the duke had the lung capacity of a whale. It was coming from the water itself.

“A sentient ocean,” murmured Morwen. “Now that’s a thought.”

 _The ocean is doing all of this itself?_ Well, it wasn’t all that stranger than a unicorn-eating rock, Cimorene supposed.

“I’m going out there,” Cimorene said. She belted the most practical of the swords around her waist and faced the storm doors.

Mendanbar, who had managed not to spill his coffee in the uproar, set it down and reached for one of the swords for himself, too. “Cimorene, what are you planning? We can’t fight the whole ocean.”

“Maybe not,” she replied. She rounded on the siren and narrowed her eyes. “But I bet _she_ can.” 

* * *

The ocean was roiling when Cimorene stepped out onto the beach. The other sirens were huddled up along the cliffs with towels clutched around themselves to ward off the sudden chill. Thunderclouds growled and snapped with lightning teeth along the horizon. The tourists had fled; Cimorene couldn’t say she was sad to see them go.

“Stop that this instant!” Cimorene shouted at the waves as they began to climb farther up the beach than should have been possible.

The encroaching water paused. From the swirling currents, a pair of black stones emerged and seemed to stare at her.

 _What do you fear, interfering mortal? I shall multiply it until you know nothing else!_ the ocean said in a voice she could feel in her marrow.

“Quite a lot of things,” Cimorene said as Mendanbar came to stand at her side and take her free hand in his. “But not you. Not anymore. Now we’re going to have a talk about your behavior.”

 _I contain multitudes. I am as old as the world,_ it said. _I answer to no mortal._

“Well, you’re answering to me right now,” Cimorene snapped. “You were the duke all along, weren’t you? You raised Leos Lin from the sea and made it a tourist trap. Why?”

The stones dipped under the water like they were blinking at her. _I am the Ocean of Fear. It is just what is done._

Cimorene was going to hurt herself rolling her eyes. “That isn’t an explanation.”

 _The fear of mortals is delectable,_ it said. It hesitated, the currents swirling like it was wringing titanic hands. _I have also come to understand that some mortals will exchange metals and stones of great value for the experience of fear, in a controlled environment._

“What on earth does an ocean need with money?” Mendanbar asked.

A whirlpool twisted up in the shallows and deposited the duke onto the sand. Only it was not quite the duke: his skin, clothes, and thinning hair were now the same brackish gray-blue as his eyes, and he was as translucent as the waves he stepped out of. He grinned at them with seaglass teeth.

_Mortals are inferior, but I knew that to draw them to my shore I would have to find out what they wanted, not just what they feared, and that I could only do this in a mortal form. I created the duke — first Leoflorian, and then his descendants — and now I understand all too well what mortals desire._

He gestured up at the palace, which was still resplendent even with its broken windows. _An ocean cannot appreciate the touch of silk or the taste of wine, but a mortal can. Once I had experienced these things, I needed more._

“So you invited the sirens here as tools to help you swindle people,” Cimorene said. “Well, it’s better than serfdom.”

“I guess!” the siren who had joined their party said with a dramatic shrug. “What do we have to complain about? We were merely tricked away from our home on false pretenses and then denied our fair share of the profits of our labor.”

“The ocean’s fear-inducing effects _do_ enhance your powers, however,” Telemain piped up. He had pulled a bizarre headpieces from his pocket and was examining a tide pool with a series of lenses. “Perhaps you and the ocean can come to a mutually-beneficial arrangement?”

“Hmph. We’ll see,” the siren said. “We don’t like to be manipulated.”

“That’s a little hypocritical coming from you, isn’t that?” Cimorene asked.

_Ahem._

They all turned back to the ocean. 

“Yes?” Cimorene asked, feeling a sigh coming on.

 _I am not used to being ignored,_ the duke-ocean said peevishly.

“That must be nice.”

_I would appreciate it if you would all tremble in terror now. This interruption is quite unseemly. I have a reputation to maintain, you know._

“What, do the Oceans have conferences, too? Are you on a committee?” 

The water behind the duke churned around the rocks and lashed at the cliffs. _I am the Ocean of Fear and you will quiver before me!_

Cimorene grit her teeth as a new wave of terror washed over her. Daystar. Mendanbar. All her loved ones lost to the wizards. Years and years slipping away again until she was an old, wizened woman living all alone. It felt so real, and if she didn’t run and hide, it was all going to come true. Around her, she heard people screaming as their own worst fears roared to life in front of their eyes. Kazul sneezed mightily somewhere behind her. She felt the heat on the back of her neck.

But Mendanbar was still right there. Cimorene reached for his hand. He reached for hers. Together, they turned to face the tide.

“That is _enough!_ ” Cimorene roared. “All of you, whatever magic you have, _use it now!_ ”

Everyone still on the beach stopped screaming. Another kind of wave built up behind Cimorene, a wave of magic. It rushed past her and Mendanbar and slammed into the duke with enough force to splatter him back into the water and to push the waves back and back until the beach was twice as long. A jet of flames shot over her shoulder and scorched the rocks that had looked so much like eyes: Kazul and her dragonfire.

 _Fools!_ the ocean shrieked. _You cannot fight fear itself!_

The waves that had been shoved back now built up into a wall of water. Cimorene’s resolve faltered. Most of these people had magic enough to escape a tidal wave unscathed, but she was an ordinary woman, and Mendanbar had come here without his sword. She heard Kazul take a few thunderous steps towards them just as she felt cold spray on her face.

Then the sirens began to sing.

It was high and clear at first, like the cries of the gulls that wheeled across the sky. A thousand voices wove together in so many intricate chords that it sounded like one pure note. Slowly, it dropped from a birdlike call to a sweet alto, the first verse of a lullaby.

Utter calm washed over Cimorene. She could hear the ocean still howling in her ear, but it no longer affected her, like it was just a memory too old to hurt anymore. The wave in front of her face stopped. It trembled. Slowly, it began to withdraw.

Soon the water was as smooth and clear as glass. When the sirens finally let their song fade into silence, everyone on the beach dropped to their knees.

It was over. Their fears were quieted for now.

The lead siren marched across the sand and offered her hand to the Chairwoman of the Interdimensional Magical Practitioners’ Union, who had collapsed onto a bench and was still staring out at the water with a stunned expression.

“Madam, if you will lend us your expertise, the Siren Club of Leos Lin would like to unionize as soon as possible,” the siren said. “Also, we’re confiscating the duke’s palace, if you want to keep going with the conference.”

The Chairwoman nodded slowly. “Keep calm and organize.”

A few bubbles rose out of the water. _Surely we can still negotiate?_

“Not bloody likely. We set the terms now,” the siren spat into the surf. “Shall we?”

And on shaking, jellied legs, the conference guests limped back to the empty palace and began the business of building a better world. Or, rather, worlds. 

* * *

“Quite the holiday you’re having, Mother,” said Daystar through the magic mirror. The color had finally returned to his cheeks as his parents had reached the end of their tale.

Cimorene and Mendanbar sat in a lush parlor with their fingers entwined. Aside from the gilded mirror sitting in front of them, most of the finery was in the process of being tagged, cataloged and carted off to be sold to cover the back pay the sirens were owed. After that, they wanted to convert the palace into a hotel, they said — if their song proved to be enough to make the ocean behave, of course. If not, the sirens had a bulging folder full of business cards from each of their magical guests. They would find a solution.

“The rest of the conference went off without a hitch, at least,” Mendanbar said. “We’re coming home in the company of three new union leaders.”

“The Deadly Nightshade Gardening Club finally badgered Morwen into joining just so they could elect her,” said Cimorene. “She isn’t thrilled, but she wants to be involved.”

Daystar’s mouth quirked in the mirror. “I hope she finds the Enchanted Forest employment practices up to snuff.”

“If she doesn’t, she won’t hesitate to let us know,” Cimorene replied with a smile. “And we’ll listen. We can’t be afraid to be accountable.”

“I think I’d like to take a break from being afraid of things for at least a week,” Mendanbar said.

Just then, Telemain stuck his head through the doorway and waved at the king and queen. “There you are. The Chairwoman and her people are ready to expedite your journey home with a time-altering device of theirs to make up for all the inconvenience. They make the most ingenious blue boxes.”

“Actually, Telemain, I think we have a change of plans,” said Cimorene.

“Oh?” said her husband, her son, and her friend at the same time. 

“Yes. I think Mendanbar and I deserve a few days to ourselves. We haven’t even gone swimming yet.”

Mendanbar looked at her like his birthday had come early. “Really? You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” she said with a grin. “Daystar has it all under control. Don’t you?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Well, then, turn off the mirror and attend to your future kingdom, _Prince._ I’m going to kiss your father now.”

Daystar blushed. The mirror went dark so fast that Cimorene was worried he’d broken it — but not too worried. She had raised a good man. He was more than capable of handling things on his own for a few days.

“Shall we head down to the beach?” Mendanbar asked.

“Do you want anything first? Espresso?”

Mendanbar grimaced. “You know, now that I’ve tried it, I’ve realized I can’t stand the stuff.”

Laughing, Cimorene wrapped her arms around her husband, who smelled pleasantly of moss and sunlight, and whose kisses tasted a little of the salty wind.

Maybe it was all right to have a _little_ bit of a holiday.

**Author's Note:**

> A happy Yuletide to AlexElizabeth! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to M. for shepherding me through the final draft. Your input was exactly what the doctor ordered. :)


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